


boom.

by gengarchan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, dancer akaashi, football player bokuto, listen idk how ot tag anything so, this KILLS the man i have such a soft spot for american football sorry guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-01 17:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gengarchan/pseuds/gengarchan
Summary: brokuto: i'm dyinG scoob.the football player bokuto and dancer akaashi au i don't care whether or not nobody asked for





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> IDK WHAT I'M DOING this is my first fic ever i love these boys. 
> 
> Hopefully this will turn into a multichapter fic with lots of development and stuff??? I had fun writing this

It’s a humid July Saturday when Bokuto falls off the treadmill for the third time in his life. The first time was when he was eight and Kuroo had dared him to run on his hands with the treadmill turned to “a reasonable speed, c’mon bro it’ll be sick!”.  


Note: it was also the first time he had ever seen Kuroo cry out of panic when Bokuto’s concussion was not sick at all and Bokuto recklessly relayed a spotty, approximate message via his doctor that “if I sleep I’ll DIE, KUROO.”  


The second time he fell off a treadmill was not eventful. He was trying to eat a banana and lost his footing.  


The third time he falls off the treadmill on the previously mentioned humid Saturday in July, though, is way better than both of the previous times combined. There are two reasons for this:  
1) There is no concussion involved, and not even a skinned knee.  
2) God has heard Bokuto’s doubts and has decided to prove his existence through the creation of whatever ethereal beauty just walked past the cardio room 

“Thanks man,” is all Bokuto can pray in gratitude, still sprawled flat on his butt from his rightfully distracted fall. He’s up a split second after he shakes off the initial shock, cardio routine abandoned in favor of getting a better look at God’s affirmation. 

At a safe distance, of course.

Bokuto’s never seen him before, which is a damn shame. The stranger’s all cut curves and he’s got the most elegant legs Bokuto’s ever seen. Coal curls stick to the stranger’s forehead and there’s a little drop of sweat that races down the small of his back—shimmering skin peaking out between the cut of his crop top (goddamn) and yoga pants (goddamn x2). It would be enough to have a body Adonis envies, but it’s almost unfair to have such. a pretty. face. He’s not nearly close enough to pinpoint the shade of those (lidded, dangerous, bedroom— oh god) eyes, but Bokuto’s sure they’re his new favorite color. 

And jesusfuckingchrist he’s doing squats. Bokuto makes an executive decision. He can’t do this. Cue the whipping out of his phone. 

brokuto: HOOT  
brokuto: HOOT HOOT  
brokuto: HOOT HOOOHTOHTOTHTOHTHH  
kubroo: what the fuq did u just call me  
brokuto: THIS IS SERIOUS  
kubroo: the animals are the patients in an animal hospital bro calm down  
brokuto: mockingspongebob.jpg  
brokuto: tH eh anI m Als are p a Ti Ents i N an aaNiMal HosPiTLA bbRoOoo  
kubroo: l i s t en  
brokuto: GOD IS REAL AND HE HAS HEARD MY PRAYERS LOOK AT H I M  
brokuto: anewreasontolive.jpg  
kubroo: BRO  
kubroo: WHO IS  
brokuto: DAMNBACKITUP.jpg  
brokuto: im dyinG scoob  
kubroo: have you talked to him  
brokuto: wHy WOULD I EVER DO THAT  
kubroo: BECAUSE HES??? THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE???  
brokuto: U RIGHT  
kubroo: bro im serious go talk to him  
brokuto: HOW THO  
kubroo: yalikejazz.jpg  
brokuto: …….do u think he actually likes jazz tho  
kubroo: i will bet you dying alone that he does  
brokuto: rood  
kubroo: BRO you’re a hot football player you got it in the bag and if he's not into meatheads just start talking about ur ugly major  
brokuto: listen here u walmart brand bill nye  
kubroo: YOURE WASTING TIME YOU BABOON  
brokuto: fuck fuckufuckufkckuc  
kubroo: bro you're a catch you'll be fine and if not i just went on a whiskey run  
brokuto: bro i thought we were going dry for pre season  
kubroo: bro………… ur love life is more important than pre season  
brokuto: bro  
kubroo: bro  
brokuto: im gonna go talk to him thanks bro  
kubroo: bro no matter what ill always love u  
brokuto: bro i love u too 

Bokuto clutches his phone so hard he’s afraid he’ll break it and takes a deep breath. It’ll be fine. He’s hit on a fair share of people with only a handful of failures. What was the worst thing that could happen? Beauty incarnate could outwardly reject him, leaving a void in his heart that he would take to his cold grave. 

brokuto: I CAN’T DO IT  
kubroo: i bet i could get into my car, drive to the gym, walk over to him and ask him out on a date, get married, and have kids before you even think about leaving your corner in the cardio room  
brokuto: FUCK YOU 

His legs carry him out to the weight room before his brain can pull the poor, forgotten emergency brake. Too bad the only thing his brain can focus on is Kuroo’s stupid face strolling into the gym with his stupid walk and stupidly hitting on an angel and going on a stupid date and stupid stupid stupid 

“I CAN SPOT YOU— ahem. Um. I can spot you, if you want.” A mix of misdirected anger and unbridled nerves makes Bokuto’s volume a million decibels louder than ‘smooth’, but he recovers. Back to default smooth. 

The beautiful stranger still appears to be working on lower body, and startles upon hearing Bokuto’s voice. Good thing he wasn’t in the middle of a set. A dark eyebrow quirks, and Bokuto’s new favorite color, it turns out, is a bold grey streaked with blue. 

“Thank you.” It’s quick, and Bokuto almost mishears it, but he knows it definitely wasn’t a ‘get away from me, freak’. Progress. 

Another thing he missed— which Bokuto wholeheartedly blames on his newly acquired spot-buddy’s glorious lower body—is that he can squat a lot of weight. It’s impressive, especially for someone with such a delicate size. Bokuto feels kind of useless standing there, since the stranger seems more than capable of handling the weight by himself. 

There’s a cold steadiness to the stranger’s movement— a focus Bokuto can only relate to when he’s on the field or when he’s got a ball tucked into his arm. He must be an athlete, Bokuto can’t help but muse. Can’t be any older than Bokuto, either. Did he go to his college? How could no one tell him. What the hell. There has never been a greater betrayal. 

There was not a lot of spotting going on, especially with Bokuto being distracted with analyzing who this beauty really is, completely forgetting that he could just ask, since he’s technically kind of already interacting with him. Holy SHIT.

“You’re really strong!” There’s this enormous grin on his face as he sticks out his hand because this is it. “Bokuto Koutarou.” 

“Akaashi Keiji. Nice to meet you, Bokuto-San.” The softest hand ever grasps his own and Bokuto forgets how to breathe. 

He stands there.  
Grasping Akaashi’s hand.  
For a a good forty seconds. 

“I play football! Hah! Running back, ya know? Are you an athlete? You work out like one, Akaashi!” He lets go of Akaashi’s hand to puff out his chest and place his hands one hand on his hip as he leans against the weight machine next to them. 

A soft sound drifts through the weight room and maybe only Bokuto could have heard it, but he’s positive that it was the sound of Kuroo cackling from miles away in their apartment. 

Akaashi’s lips twitch at one corner, but he takes all the suave Bokuto is laying on him like a champ. 

“I’m a dancer.”  
Bokuto.exe has stopped working.  
“WOAH. So…. like…. hip hop? Tap?”  
Please be tap. Innocent, lovely, tap with minimal body movements.  
“Ballet and contemporary, mostly. But I’ve warmed up to hip hop.”  
Would you like to restart Bokuto.exe?

“Do you go to college around here or anything? I mean, if you go to school. I don’t know what super talented dancers do. I haven’t seen you here before. I’m here a lot.”  
Hint hint: he hopes Akaashi notices what’s come out of being at the gym a lot.  
“I attend the arts academy about ten minutes into the city. I assume you play for the University near here?”  
Bokuto can only nod enthusiastically, trying desperately to relate to Akaashi on some sort of level, or at least bridge the gap between casual conversation and getting his number. 

Akashi is looking at him so attentively and it makes it a little hard to focus, right? And Bokuto is torn between staring at those gunmetal eyes for years or not looking at them at all. He guesses he finally understands what all those sappy poets in his GE literature class were talking about when they compared people’s eyes to the sea. They really suck you in— especially if you’re not paying attention. 

“So….” Bokuto starts, hoping his words will somehow find their way. 

“Ya like jazz?” 

Bokuto wishes that fall off the treadmill killed him.


	2. 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He honed in on his animalistic focus, listened to whatever his gut was telling him to do even if his feet knew it was a bad idea. 
> 
> “A bad idea” because it could be too much for Bokuto at his speed, could cost the play. 
> 
> But he didn’t want to stop running. Didn’t want to forfeit the ball until he got into the endzone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that summary is super dramatic but !! hello!! 
> 
> so this chapter's way longer, and kinda delves deeper into the plot. i think i'll be keeping my oncoming chapters this long and following the kind of pov flip format throughout. 
> 
> there are notes at the end because football is confusing

A snort. That’s what Akaashi replies with when Bokuto’s brain seems to go on autopilot— sputtering out the first thing that comes to mind. Which happens to be the the goddamn Bee Movie.

It doesn’t end with one snort, though. Akaashi snorts a total of three times, chuckles accompanying the nasally sound and he’s almost sure he’s gonna kill his lungs and then himself on the spot. He’s laughing uncontrollably soon enough, covering his face with his hands (like his mother always taught him, ugh), but still manages to plop himself on the ground with the absence of anything resembling grace.

Bokuto follows after him, kneeling down and watching him with these huge golden eyes, mouth slightly agape. He kind of looks like an owl, doesn’t he? The realization only makes Akaashi laugh even harder— and louder.

There are tears pricking at the corners of his eyes when Akaashi realizes how surreal this moment actually is. He had floated into the gym exhausted, on the brink of sobbing, and equipped with the intention of burying his self-hatred under excruciating pain via strength training.

The summer of freshmen dance camp was supposed to be the greatest summer of his life. He had been accepted to his dream school on a major scholarship, which meant there could be zero objections from his parents and zero reasons why he couldn’t pack his things and head over to a two and a half month long rite of passage. It wouldn’t be easy. He knew that. Nothing was easy about wanting to dance for a living.

The program was merciless, and Akaashi had never worked as hard as he had during the application process.

But he had gotten in, and Akaashi was foolish enough to think that the hardest part was over.

He was so wrong.

The dance camp was brutal beyond measure. Hours upon hours of repetitive steps, painful core tightening, and trying over and over and over again to get it right was only the beginning. Akaashi could handle pushing his body to the limit. He didn’t mind the blisters on his feet and the burn that rushed into his abs every morning. Pain could be handled with some Tylenol and and icepack. Pain could be managed.

The worst part— the part Akaashi had come so undoubtedly unprepared for— was the people. His fellow students were prone to spitting out whatever crossed their minds, whether it be critique on his ‘noodle arms’ or his ‘droopy eyes’. He understood constructive criticism. He even understood competitive strategy, since everyone at that camp was technically his competition in the “real world” of dance.

Walls, obstacles, people— whatever came in your way can and will be teared down.

They could act buddy-buddy for a couple years, but the relationships would eventually end with cut ballet shoe laces and broken eyeliner pencils.

He could excuse biting remarks as a way of dodging an otherwise inevitable crash and burn.

Using cruelty as a way of “weeding out” worthy clique-mates, though. That was where they lost him. He had no interest in seething venom over another person’s sloppy routine or bad haircut. He was hyperaware that even if natural talent and sleepless nights of research had gotten him through the application process, his lack of experience in such an environment put him at the bottom of the barrel.

In other words, he knew he had no right to be running his mouth, though he was positive at least two thirds of the other dancers also lacked that right.

He should have just nodded when a group of incoming first-years had asked if Akaashi had ever seen a routine so atrocious.

It didn’t sit well in his stomach, though. Even when two pairs of (very expensive, dare he say favorite) tights cut into dozens of three inch triangles rained over him like confetti after practice.

It didn’t sit well in his stomach. So he suggested that they should focus on their own steps.

He just wanted to dance.

All of that faded into light grey behind his eyes now, though, shut in a stutter of laughter that refused to die out. Akaashi hadn’t laughed so hard in months, maybe years.

“This is STEALING.” Akaashi finally managed through his gasping breaths.

That had Bokuto offering a hesitant breath of laughter, which quickly amped up to a hearty cackling.

They sat there, lungs desperate for air, for a good amount of time. It was Bokuto that finally broke the wordless amusement with a reckless

“You’ve got a great laugh, Akaashi!”

That made Akaashi stop in his tracks, clearing his throat and coming back to his senses. Reality. Right.

Except it was a little better. It was a reality that he could laugh in, a reality that didn’t make him think this whole summer was a giant mistake. A reality that had a running back named Bokuto— who also happened to look like an owl, Akaashi’s not-so-secretly favorite animal ever— with an uncanny ability to turn a self-destructive trip to the gym into something fun.

“Bokuto-san, would you like to join me for my workout today?”

It was selfish. Akaashi just didn’t want the light in his chest to leave. He liked this new reality, no matter how temporary. He had only known Bokuto for a few minutes, but he just

wanted his presence. He blamed it on the shitty day, and how Bokuto had obliviously (and so so easily) turned that around.

Bokuto didn’t seem to mind the selfishness. That huge grin was back, and he nodded.

——

“My workout today” turned into workouts for the rest of the week, which turned into Bokuto “smoothly” asking for Akaashi’s number.

(See: Bokuto screaming “IT WOULD BE COOL TO HAVE YOUR NUMBER. Just in case. You know. For, like, science.” in the middle of benching a new personal best. Akaashi lectured him about outbursts during strength training as he scribbled down his number.)

Bokuto learned that Akaashi was quiet, but a good listener, and a keen observer.

Especially after their third workout together, when Akaashi nonchalantly remarked “You’re much better with weights than you are with treadmills, Bokuto-san.”

Another thing Bokuto noticed about the dancer, probably the only thing he could see that he didn’t necessarily like about Akaashi— was that Akaashi wasn't as prone to laughter or even smiling as their first meeting hinted at.

Maybe Bokuto was being a little biased, but he was sure that Akaashi had the fullest, brightest smile that was ever set on someone’s face. It was sincere and open— beautiful in every way that contrasted Akaashi’s outward appeal.

While the dancer was glacial in appearance, with hard edged gunmetal in his eyes and winter in his words, his smile was all spring blossoms and summer rain.

It was like chasing the greatest high ever, trying to make Akaashi smile like he had in their first meeting.

Nonetheless, Akaashi was great company. Bokuto told him all about his university’s Criminology program, how he wanted to be a police officer like his dad, and of course, football. Akaashi knew little to none about the sport, and Bokuto was more than happy to fill in gaps in his knowledge.

He had been playing almost his whole life, not that he was one to brag.

Bokuto also ranked in the top five running backs in the country as a high schooler, and was projected to be ranked in the top three running backs in the college league.

Not that he was one to brag.

Of course, that projection was heavily reliant on the assumption that his coach would get him off the damn bench in his second year.

Summer practices (“kiddie playtime”is what their coach spat it as while he took the upperclassmen to condition, but they all knew better) were his proving ground, and despite his blossoming friendship with Akaashi, he was currently hitting a wall in regards to football.

A human wall.

Named Daichi Sawamura.

“Damn your freak brick genes,” Bokuto mumbled, the familiar cushion of artificial turf against his back doing nothing to ease his frustration.

“She’s a brick,” that followed from Kuroo was inevitable as he approached the pair, holding out his hand to help his favorite running back (Bokuto’s words, not Kuroo’s) up and off his ass.

“House,” Bokuto drawled out without hesitation. Daichi flicked a gaze at Kuroo, careful to proceed in any way that did not bear the highly esteemed Kuroo Tetsurou seal of approval.

I.e, Daichi did not want to be the cause of Bokuto spiraling into one of his moods.

It wasn’t good for the running back, and it was even worse for the team’s previous freshmen, brimming with talent but lacking in opportunity to show it off.

“We’ll do it again, Bokuto. But I promise it’ll end just like this one,” Daichi chided— playful but honest. Kuroo’s grin spread wide— feline, but still approving.

It was a challenge. And Bokuto loved challenges.

Daichi Sawamura had proved to be quite the obstacle during their summer training. An exceptional strong safety, what Daichi lacked in speed he made up for in strength and form.

 

“You’re relying too much on your power, Kou-chan~!” came Oikawa Tooru’s singsong critique from the 40 yard line.  
“Does that mean you’ll finally throw that damn ball, Shittykawa?”  
“So mean, Iwa-chan!”

Kuroo tugged Bokuto by his helmet as their wide receiver delivered a swift jab to the left kidney of their quarterback.

“Pretty boy’s right, you know. You can’t blow through Daichi like you do with—“  
“You?”  
“I blocked the hell out of your run, like, yesterday.”  
“…”  
“Don’t get like that, bro. Just… use your head, alright? There’s a strategy to every position in this game and you need to figure it out.”

The only time Bokuto used his head in the next 10 minutes was to nod at Kuroo.

 

It didn’t go as horribly as it could have, to be fair. Bokuto managed to get past Daichi three out of the five times he could get past Tendou and Kuroo.

Also, Bokuto was convinced Tendou Satori was genetically manufactured in some football lab to be on defense.

Which was awesome, but so unfair.

It was difficult, nonetheless. Bokuto had begun at a superb level at the beginning of summer training, but had plateaued while the rest of his teammates improved tenfold.

He felt himself slipping.

But Oikawa kept. handing. him. the ball.

Even when their tight end flatly stated “you should throw the ball, Oikawa-san.” which the quarterback replied, annoyance thinly veiled, with “Ushijima, when will you finally die?”

Even when Ushijima, not missing a single beat, offered “60-70 years, according to the most current research. Though lifespan is difficult to estimate, especially with the advancement of medical technology.”

Even when Tendou couldn’t help but pipe in with a “So well-informed, Waka!”

Oikawa held a crooked smile.

“If Kou-chan can’t run the ball from the thirty yard line into the end zone, we’ll do some passing plays, hm?”

A stinging slap to Bokuto’s back immediately followed.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He wasn’t about to lose his time with that ball.

Everything blurred— the groans of their offense as they left the huddle, Hanamaki’s quick snap, whatever Oikawa mumbled before he handed the ball off to Bokuto.

Everything blurred, until the running back felt the familiar heft of pig skin against his arm, the push of bodies around him.

Quick, powerful, instinctual, Bokuto _ran_.

Tendon’s approximation was off— not taking into account the godly speed the running back was able to move at, and Kuroo felt the rush of air that followed Bokuto before he could focus in on him.

Fifty yards in and Daichi coming in too close, Bokuto did something that he wasn’t accustomed to.

He honed in on his animalistic focus, listened to whatever his gut was telling him to do even if his feet knew it was a bad idea.

“A bad idea” because it could be too much for Bokuto at his speed, could cost the play.

But he didn’t want to stop running. Didn’t want to forfeit the ball until he got into the endzone.

Bokuto braced his right leg and swiveled to Daichi’s side. Daichi’s momentum kept him going, even when Bokuto saw the safety’s eyes widen in panic. With the opportunity open, Bokuto cut diagonally.

He almost fumbled.

Could feel an inevitable stumble as his ankles tangled. There was no time to steady himself, so he let himself fall to gain just enough distance — dragging his foot in front of him before his knee could slam into the turf. Body leading almost too much for comfort, gravity acting as friend and foe, Bokuto launched himself forward.

He was running again. His legs stuttered, but he was back to an incredible speed just as Daichi’s body caught up with his thoughts.

It was too late, though.

The large, white 30 blurred into a bright end zone before Bokuto could process how bad that could have ended up— how shitty it would be to have sustained some rookie injury because of a poorly executed survival instinct.

“HEY, HEY, HEY!”

Yeah, fuck all that negative stuff. He just ran a touchdown from the thirty yard line.

Kuroo barked a laugh before anyone else on the team could process whatever just happened. Oikawa flipped Ushijima off without hesitation.

It was a good play.

—

“His footwork,” Oikawa had declared as he planted himself in the space next to Kuroo during a rare break.  
“Yeah, Oikawa, course you can sit there. Your presence is greatly appreciated. I, a mere plebe, am honored to—”  
“Such a dramatic kitty!” The quarterback’s annoyance was evident, but he shouldn’t have expected any less from the only person in this universe who could possibly compete with his… quick wit.

“But I know what you mean,” Kuroo cut in, suddenly serious.  
“Ah, my sweet KitKat. Always on the same page as me.”  
“Bo’s quick, but that’s not enough. He needs to do… whatever he did in that play, but less recklessly. Needs to strategize.”  
“Perhaps Kou-chan could benefit from slowing down, hm?”  
“You gonna tell him that, E.T?”

Oikawa's nose twitched annoyance, and Kuroo’s grin just could not be subdued.

“It doesn’t need to be said. He’ll adjust once he polishes his technique. It needs to become second nature, like his speed. And power.”

Kuroo nodded. Not that he would ever, in a million years, under any sort of threat, admit that Oikawa was right out loud. But he was right. Ever observant, the quarterback knew the best and worst of his team.

“… I know we need these plays. It’ll set us apart. Bo can do it. But even I don’t know how to get him to work on footwork, of all things.”  
“Professional linebackers take up ballet to help their balance and agility on their feet. Kou-chan would look lovely in pink~!”

Oikawa was a _genius_.

—

**brokuto: HEY HEY HEY AKAASHI**   
**Akaashi: Hello, Bokuto-san.**   
**brochette: GUESS WHAT HAPPENED JUST KIDDING YOU NEVER WILL**   
**brokuto: IT WAS THE COOLEST THING**   
**brokuto: I SCORED A TOUCHDOWN FROM THE 30 YARD LINE. I RAN SO FAST AND FAR AKAASHI**   
**brokuto: AND I DID THIS COOL DODGE THING TO GET AWAY FROM THE SAFETY AND MAN ISNT THAT SICK**   
**Akaashi: Very impressive.**   
**brokuto: LDSKFJDLKFJDKFDFSD**   
**brokuto: but as I was saying before, i saw the BIGGEST OWL LAST NIGHT. KUROO SAYS IT WAS JUST A MAILBOX BUT IM PRETTY SURE HES WRO**

Kuroo smacked his phone out of his hand.

Bokuto did not take it well.

“What did I EVER DO TO YOU, BRO,” Bokuto begged as he inspected his phone for any damage, also for any texts from Akaashi.

“I know how to get in your beautiful dancer’s pants.”  
“Bro, if you take Akaashi away from me I will burn all your crops.”  
“No, I mean, I have a way for you to get closer to him, you know, aside from pining over him at the gym.”  
“Did you just call me a tree.”  
“What made you this way. Just— shut up. You can ask him to give you lessons. Dance lessons?”

Bokuto though hard about this proposition.

“Tetsu. I really thought you cared about me. Why would you suggest this.”

Kuroo almost felt bad. Bokuto only reserved the “Tetsu” tag for particularly sincere heartbreak.

“Pro players do ballet all the time, and isn’t that Akaashi’s thing? According to the millions of texts you’ve sent about it. So you have a reason to get all Patrick Swayze with his Jennifer Grey.” Cue the suggestive eyebrow waggle.

“…Wouldn’t I be Jennifer Grey?”  
“Details, bro.”

For the record, Bokuto though this was a god awful idea. He had no experience in dance, and his moves were a cross between white dad at a barbecue and elderly Senator at a wedding.

It wasn’t good. It was embarrassing, and he didn’t want to be embarrassing around Akaashi. He wanted to be cool— to be someone Akaashi wanted to go on dates with and stuff.

But just the thought of having a reason to near Akaashi, to watch him in his element (he hadn’t seen him dance yet, which was not primetime), made his heart beat the way it does when he’s on the field. Minus the exhaustion and worn down shins.

“Yeah.” Bokuto obliviously interrupted the rest of Kuroo’s carefully prepared sales pitch.  
“And guys are super into being super into the stuff they’re super into, duh— Wait. Yeah?”  
“Yeah, I’ll ask.”  
“Are you actually going to ask. Or are you gonna chicken o-”  
“YES. HELL YES. RIGHT NOW.”

—

  **brokuto: AAKASHSI WLIL YOUY TEHACG EMEN B** ALELT

The dancer squinted at his screen, wiping a towel across his face to make sure sweat wasn’t blurring his vision. Not unlike every other day at the dance camp, today consisted of routines that were choreographed for advanced dancers.

Advanced dancers who did not feel pain and whose anatomy lacked a properly functioning human skeletal and muscular system in addition to not being required to breathe.

Unfortunately, Akaashi was not a superhuman or a jellyfish, so he was struggling.

It was a hard day, but somehow Bokuto’s endless ramblings about faux owls and his team’s violent wide receiver made it a little more bearable.

They shouldn’t be so comforting, but they were.

Bokuto was like that.

He had a habit of changing Akaashi’s perspective— of making atoms into galaxies and cotton into clouds. It was a skill in its own right.

And it was exciting.

But if there was anything predictable about the running back, it was that he was very unpredictable.

However, Akaashi was positive this was not random key smashing. There was an obvious request, or a message of some sort.

  **Akaashi: You’ll need to be a little more clear with your messages, Bokuto-san.**

His instructor began screaming to get into position before Akaashi could get an answer, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK SO. Here's a review of all the positions and who has them, also upcoming positions that will be making an appearance later on. Tendou and Kuroo are regularly cornerbacks, but during running plays theyll be defensive ends because the 2nd year college crew doesnt actually have defensive ends lol theyre all so scrawny
> 
> Ushijima: Tight end  
> Hajime: Wide receiver  
> Bokuto: running back  
> Tendou: defensive end/cornerback (main)  
> Kuroo: defensive end/cornerback (main)  
> Hanamaki: Center  
> Daichi: Safety  
> Oikawa: Quarterback  
> Asahi: Linebacker  
> Matsukawa: Left tackle


End file.
